Francesca Romana di Nicola at Lunchtime Live!

 Francesca Romana di Nicola, Portsmouth Cathedral, July 4 

The harp is music's equivalent of champagne - pure, sparkling and clean. It has to be saved for special occasions because we would be spoilt if we had it all the time and so we get by very well on the white wine of violin, red wine of cello and maybe the piano is water. Today it provided the perfect antidote to the scurrilous politics going on around us. 

Francesca Romana di Nicola's Miniature is a series of short pieces for solo harp that come with poems by Juan Kruz Igerabide, here read by him in Basque with English translations provided, that gave some context and elucidation to the programmatic music.

One soon becomes accustomed to the luminous effect in the Moorish mystique of Arabian Habanera, the hypnotic The Running and the lingering light and fading embers of Sunset. In Passage one hears further dance rhythms which I blamed on the bossa nova and while not being sure I found Ravel, who is mentioned in the poem, quoted in Walking, it was Basque in flavour.

I entirely take the point that poetry is 'that which gets lost in translation' and thus is only truly itself in its original langauage but I was very taken with the

               faint shivers

of serene vertigo

in Thought. 

Garden brought to mind jazz influences and prompted the unlikeliest of comparisons between this iridescent sound and the earthier songs of Fats Waller. Horizons was suitably spacious before Magic ended the set not with any classical climax but gently,

decontaminated by the pure air of sentiment 

which summarized the whole programme. Magic, indeed.

That was a special occasion and a rare pleasure bringing with it something exotic, the sound of the harp not only for its own sake but in some evocative and exquisite compositions and poetry in words, too. It was tremendous to see it so well attended. Champagne would have been ideal to go with it.

Solarek Piano Trio in Chichester

 Solarek Piano Trio, Chichester Cathedral, July 2

It wasn't Beethoven that put the ghost into his Trio in D major, op. 70 no. 1. Somebody else found it there and, as with other of his work that he didn't give such names to, that's what it became known as. Before the haunting, though, the Solarek Piano Trio began with Soir et Matin by Mel Bonis which was picturesque and atmospheric, Marina Solarek's violin and Ellen Baumring-Gledhill's cello sharing the evening motif while Robert Bridge's piano was dusky underneath. The morning was in a noticeably higher register, gently awakening in a way that vaguely brought to mind Ravel's Daphnis and Chloe.

Beethoven is rarely over-shadowed on any programme, though, and the Ghost Trio was the main event. The Allegro dashed in its vivace e con brio way with Ellen performing some of the fastest fingerwork I've possibly ever seen on a cello but then the Largo was where we were to expect some chill in the air. Yes, it is muted and mournful and perhaps in search of lost passion, its desolate theme mistily in the violin and then the piano with Robert also revealing the perturbèd spirit. The Presto was boisterous in Beethoven's muscular way, the two string players apparently having their attempt at some Mozartian salon elegance continually interrupted by cartwheels and acrobatics from the piano and having to join in. The Trio was not on my record shelves but is yet another thing that will have to be added thanks to the wide-ranging education provided by all these tremendous events. There's no point buying one, I'll have the lot. Barenboim, Zucherman and Du Pré it is, then.

Chichester's summer lunchtime series ends next week but the Autumn list is already available with a lot to look forward to on it because one is never disappointed there.